Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1234
“Thank you, I don’t want to,” replied Holly, dreamily. “I’m very happy as I am.... Is Renn hugging Conchita?”
“Wal, if he ain’t she is him.... Holly, thet Mexican dame is after Renn.”
“Indeed. Is that an unusual proceeding for Conchita?”
“No. But Renn is kinda shy aboot gurls. He’s plumb decent, Holly.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” murmured Holly.
“Conchita will hev Renn eatin’ oot of her hand in no time.”
“Jealous, Brazos?”
“Aw, Holly, yu make me mad. I don’t care nothin’ atall aboot Connie. An’ I do aboot Renn.”
“Brazos, you are growing remarkably chivalrous lately. What do you want me to do?”
“Wal, you might give Renn a hint.”
“Impossible, my cowboy.”
“Then dawg-gone-it — she’ll get him.”
“And you’ll lose her!”
“There — them sons-of-guns have stopped fiddlin’. Gee, thet was a short dance. But nice, Holly. Only you made me forget to hug yu.... Do yu reckon yu could give me another chance?”
“Not to-night, Brazos.”
“Aw wal! — My Gawd, Holly, you’re lovely to-night. Yu jest go to my haid.”
“Brazos, your head is not very strong.”
“Wait! I cain’t say nuthin’ when thet ootfit corrals yu,” he whispered, detaining her. “Listen. Heah, darlin’, is where Brazos plays the game.... Thet fellar Frayne is so in love with yu he cain’t be natural.”
“Bra-zos!” she gasped, collapsing inwardly.
“Wal! — Don’t grab me like thet, if you’re so all-fired.... Aw, ‘scuse me, Holly.... I seen through Renn. He’s all bluff aboot yu. Thet cold, mean, stand-offish way of his is ‘cause he’s afeared yu’ll see he loves yu wuss’n we all do.... Now, Lady, play yore cairds.”
“Nonsense!”
Brazos, with something warm and bright that almost dimmed the piercing devil of his eyes, relinquished Holly to one of his comrades, which one she had no idea at the moment. Holly danced dizzily, with her cheek on the broad shoulder of her present cavalier, who turned out to be Tennessee, the enigma of her cowboys, whom she knew least. When presently he in turn let her go to Bluegrass, Holly had still only partly recovered. Brazos was a fiend, but he could not have told Holly that unless he believed it. He had, however, guessed her secret. Brazos’ virtues of magnanimity and generosity were as great as some of his other qualities. He was making up for unjust dislike of Frayne. But he was wrong. Frayne did not love her. He did not even like her yet. Holly beat down the ecstasy of her rebel heart with her own convictions.
The dance went on. Holly did ample duty by her cowboys, dancing with all who claimed her. Twice Frayne had his opportunity, but did not avail himself of it. Once she caught his gaze, when he must have imagined himself unobserved, and the lightning of it was something she dared not believe in.
The rooms crowded with other cowboys, with ranchers, and strangers. And eventually Sewall McCoy approached Holly. He was a large, square-shouldered cattleman, over forty years old, handsome in a bold rugged way, heavily jowled and possessed of the hard eyes and thin lips characteristic of so many rangers. Holly did not like McCoy, but as Britt had suggested that she talk with him and draw him out she was ready to dance with him.
For so heavy a man he danced well, except that he presumed upon his opportunity. Holly had a way of circumventing these range men, and she kept McCoy from crushing her. He was a man of some education, of large means and influence; and he had already proposed to Holly twice. She had become used to offers of marriage on short notice. It was a Western way. There was no time for courting. Long distances made a general social life impossible. Once a year range folk met, and that was about all.
“Miss Holly, I’ve been anxious to see you,” began McCoy. “Yes? What about?”
“Well, several things, all important, and all hangin’ together. Do you recollect that little offer I made you last year?”
“Offer? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.”
“Flatterin’. — I asked you to marry me.”
“Oh, that! Pray excuse me, Mr. McCoy, I thought that was over.”
“No doubt. But I’m makin’ it again. Third an’ last time. They say a third time is the charm. How about it, Holly?”
“My answer is the same. Thanks for the honour you would do me — but no.”
“Why not?” he asked, rather arrogantly.
“The main reason a woman refuses a man is because she doesn’t love him.”
“Holly, there are reasons why you’d do well to waive that.”
“Indeed. And what are they?”
“This range is changin’. You’re runnin’ thirty thousand head—”
“Fifty thousand, Mr. McCoy,” corrected Holly; and in that very moment her woman’s intuition placed this cattleman in the same category as Sutherland.
“So many? Well, your man Britt never was any good at countin’ either or grades. But no matter. This range is in for some long tough drill with rustlers. Your outfit has a bad name. This man Frayne is an outlaw — a notorious gunman.
Britt picked him out of a band of—”
“Wrong again, Mr. McCoy. I picked him.”
“You did? I’m surprised.... When cattle-stealin’ gets bad Frayne an’ some more of your disreputable outfit are goin’ to be suspected. I am your nearest neighbour. Our cattle run together, at least most of my ten thousand head—”
“Mr. McCoy, you have a little less than five thousand branded stock on this range.”
“Sure, a lot of mine hasn’t had the iron yet,” he added, hastily. “I’ve been short of riders. But now I’ve got the best outfit on this range. If you throwed in with me we’d be too strong for any combination of rustlers. An’ my outfit would give yours a respectable name. We’d dominate the range. This Chisum bunch — they’re foot-loose. Slaughter has got somethin’ up his sleeve. He made me a proposition, which I won’t consider till I get your answer.”
“You are threatening me,” returned Holly, and stopped dancing on the spot, which happened to be just outside of an alcove where Britt and Frayne stood talking with Doane.
“Not at all,” protested McCoy, nettled and uneasy. “I’m just talkin’ sense.... What’s your answer?”
“No.”
“Very well. You may regret it.”
“Never,” rejoined Holly, spiritedly, in a voice that carried to her men. “Mr. McCoy, I shall back my disreputable outfit, as you called it, to the very limit. Throw in with Russ Slaughter, as you threatened. That has a suspicious slant — just as suspicious as your hint that some of my men are dishonest.... Mr. McCoy, I resent your blackguarding my men. You force me to break for the first time my father’s law of hospitality.. Please leave my house!”
Stunned, his heavy visage grey in hue, McCoy gave Holly a baleful look and strode through the dancers like a jostling bull. The music ceased. Holly moved to confront Britt. Outwardly calm, burning within, she gave Britt her hands, but she looked into Frayne’s impenetrable face.
“Good Gawd, Holly!” ejaculated Britt. “We heahed you. What possessed you to lace it into McCoy thet way?”
“Rage.”
“Wal, shore. You needn’t tell us thet. You’re as white as I never seen anythin’. An’ yore eyes, lass I”
“Can I speak before Mr. Doane?”
“Shore. Doane is my friend as he was yore Dad’s.”
“Renn — McCoy insulted you,” said Holly, with a passion that made her thoughtless. Frayne made no reply. “He tried to strengthen his offer of marriage by claiming that you and others of my men were crooked. He hinted of a big secret rustler combination for whose deals my outfit would be blamed. He said throwing my outfit in with his would give mine respectability.”
“What was thet aboot Russ Slaughter?” queried Britt, sharply.
“McCoy said he’d consider throwing in with Slaughter — if I refused his offer.”
Britt stroked his chin gravely, while his keen eyes went from Doane to Frayne.
“Oh, I lost my temper,” cried Holly, beginning to see something seriously amiss.
“Lass, I shore couldn’t have answered McCoy better, an’ neither could Frayne heah — unless he’d flashed a gun.... Renn, back me, will you? Holly is upset.”
“Miss Ripple, you could not have handled the situation better,” replied Frayne, with respect and admiration. “But tell us. How did you make that tight-jawed cattleman give himself away?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t do anything.... Let me think. He smelled of whisky. He tried to hug me. He began at once to make his proposal. He was excited.”
“Plumb easy,” concluded Britt, with a wry smile. “Doane, keep this under yore sombrero. But think a heap. An’ keep close tab on everythin’ over yore way.... Holly, I’ll leave you with Renn.”
To be left thus with Frayne would have been disturbing enough to Holly, even if she had not been profoundly moved. Besides, Frayne’s eyes pierced her.
“Like father, like daughter. If I could only have known him — ridden for him years ago!... Miss Holly, it’s easy to understand why you are what you are.”
His flattery was impersonal. But any praise from this man, with the fine allusion to the father she had worshipped, would have affected Holly then. A dreamy, seductive Spanish waltz suddenly thrummed from the guitars. Holly drew Frayne out of the alcove.
“This is our dance,” she said, and swayed into his arms. He could not see her face, which was hidden on his breast, nor her heart, which was more of a traitor. She did not care if he did feel it throb. She did not know nor care whether he danced well or ill. All Holly felt then was his strong clasp, under which she sank to the irresistible sweetness of this trance. Sooner or later it lost dominance over her mind, and she awakened to the subtlety and allurement which she had sworn to practise upon this man.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I am now.”
“Didn’t Conchita — amuse you?”
“She did more.”
“Did you hold her as — closely as you are holding me?”
“I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize.... Yes, I must have. Conchita has a way of dancing you off your feet and out of your head.”
“Have I not that, Senor?”
“No doubt, to these boys with sage-brush in their heads, instead of brains.”
“But not to you?”
“No.”
“If it had not been for your one and only compliment — a moment ago — my birthday party would be spoiled.”
“Must you chatter such party nonsense? — Be sincere, Holly, or be quiet.”
She was quiet for a few rounds among the whirling couples. Then all too soon the waltz ended.
“You are pale — dizzy,” he asked, solicitously, as he released her. “It is long past midnight. You have danced steadily.”
“That will be the last. And I had to steal it! — You would not have asked me. You alone!”
“Santone did not ask you. Nor Mason, nor Jackson, nor the Southards. Why do you persist in expecting more from me?”
“Let us go out a few moments,” she replied, and led him into the patio. Dancers and strollers were numerous along the wide porch, and every bench had its couple, but at the lower end, where the patio opened into the garden, there was the seclusion Holly desired.
“Is this garden walled in?” asked Frayne, peering into the gloom of foliage.
“Yes. You can enter only from the patio. Why?”
“Miss Holly, has it not occurred to you that some of your guests are thieves, outlaws, rustlers? You are surrounded by men who hate your cowboys — who would stop at nothing.... It astonishes me — your nerve or your blindness, I don’t know which. A splendid tribute to you, this turn-out. But I disapprove of this free-for-all hospitality. It will lead to annoyance to you, or more. Yet you seem not to see it. You are a grand lady on this range. Still, in my opinion to laugh, talk, dance — flirt under such circumstances is most unwise.”
“Renn, I want to be happy,” she explained poignantly. They walked on in silence, out into the garden, down a moonlit, rose-scented path. Their slow footsteps gave forth no sound. At a curve in the path Holly heard a familiar voice, and she halted. Above it sounded the sensuous melody of a Spanish love-song from somewhere beyond.
“What has leetle Conchita done that her beeg senor ess no more sweet — he has no kees, or hug for her to-night?... No!”
Holly would have recognized that pleading voice without its self-betrayal, and she turned to leave when Frayne detained her. “Hold on,” he whispered in her ear. “I’d like to hear some more.”
“But, Renn!” whispered Holly, in expostulation. “It’s not nice — to listen.”
“I reckon not. But wouldn’t you like to?”
‘ Holly’s “no” was not a miracle of truth, but it would have actuated her had not Frayne put his arm around her waist, which made it impossible for her to move, even without the slight restraint.
“Connie, you’re no good,” drawled Brazos. “You’re like all the rest of them.”
“Ah no, senor! You theenk bad of Conchita when her heart beet only for her magneeficente Brazos.”
“I’ll bet you let Frayne hug an’ kiss yu.”
“Frayne? — that so-cold Senor, who no speek Spanish — who dance so steefly.... Si Senor, he hug Conchita, but he not know it. An’ he never think of kees. He no love Conchita!”
“You black-eyed kitten! If you lie to me!”
“Conchita no lie—”
“Come heah,” replied Brazos, masterfully. A low soft murmur ended in a succession of audible kisses. “Dog-gone-yu, Connie. If you didn’t cock yore eye at every cowboy on this range, I reckon I’d marry yu.”
Frayne lifted Holly clear of the ground and carried her noiselessly back up the path for some distance before he let her down. Then he drew her on to the arched, vine-covered entrance to the patio.
“Risky, sneaking on Brazos that way,” he remarked. He relaxed from his tenseness. His face changed magically and grew convulsed with mirth. “Gosh, if I could only — tell the outfit!”
“Don’t you dare,” broke out Holly, loyally, though she sensed a queer burning within.
“I won’t. But, Holly, wasn’t it — rich? The jealous son-of-a-gun! Sore at poor me. Why, honest, the girl almost fooled me. She said the same things to me. She rubbed her cheek against mine — her lips. She got her hair in my eyes. She just melted in my arms.”
“But you hugged her!” exclaimed Holly, with all a schoolgirl’s senselessness.
“Good heaven! Of course I did. I’m human. And that little Mexican lass is devastating. But no more! I’m on to her now. The darned little hussy! She’s as much of a devil as Brazos.... Holly, didn’t you nearly burst?”
“Yes, but not with mirth.”
“What do you mean?” he queried, changing.
“Renn, I was jealous.”
“No! Not really?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But just because... Brazos is your favourite cowboy, I know.... You wouldn’t be seriously jealous of that pretty Mexican?”
“Not on his account,” replied Holly, with a significance wholly lost upon Frayne. He threw off something in relief. What had suddenly clouded his mind? Holly grasped it. He knew Brazos as she did not know him, and his perplexity, his obvious consternation had undoubtedly come from the impossibility of telling her. Britt had once informed her that cowboys did not possess morals, a sweeping statement which Holly had disbelieved. She grew perturbed, and struggled against an insidious reasoning that Frayne held her innocence sacred.
“Take me in,” she said, worn out with physical and mental strain. The stars burned white and remorselessly down upon her. That Mexican with his love-song! The music thrummed and throbbed; and the great house seemed riotous with mirth and sound. Holly had had enough. She clung to Frayne’s arm through the gay bright rooms to her own door, which she opened.
“Good night, Caballero,” she said, softly, holding out her hand.
“Holly, let me apologize.”
“For what? — Your not wanting to dance with me?”
“No. That absurd misunderstanding — about your jealousy.”
Holly smiled her forgiveness, and denied herself little in one fleeting glance before she closed her door.
CHAPTER VIII
HOLLY AWOKE LATE and lay thinking. The golden sun sifted through the vines over her window, spreading lace-like shadows and bright spots upon her bed. In broad daylight she could not retrieve the thoughts and feelings under which she had strained — last night. It seemed impossible to give credence to some of them. What had she done — what had she said? Nothing compared to that which she had determined upon! Would she ever be able to cultivate the beguilement of Conchita Velasquez?
She passed from a vague and unsatisfactory review of her experience and conduct for the evening to an impersonal contemplation of her birthday party. It had undoubtedly been a huge success. There had been no fights, so far as she knew. But she never knew half that went on. Frayne’s sombre intimation that the gay and sumptuous party had been held over a powder-magazine had been a warning she must heed in the future. How easily her house could be made the scene of as bloody a fight as had ever occurred among cowboys!
When her next birthday rolled around Holly would break her father’s rule, to the extent that only those who received invitations could be present. It might be wise, also, to close her house at once to strangers. Lascelles and Taylor had virtually forced her to remain a prisoner in her room. The good old tranquil days of southern hospitality and Spanish atmosphere were gone for ever. The era of the settler and the rancher had begun.
Holly had her breakfast, sitting up in bed, listening to the chatter of the Mexican maids, who pronounced her party una fiesta grande. Many of her guests had departed early. And some had never gone to sleep at all. They lived thirty, forty, sixty and even a hundred miles away, which meant long drives and dark camps before they reached their homes. This was a fact about the range that Holly deplored. She had visited San Marcos, but the towns farther west, Lincoln, Fort Sumner and Fort Union, Santa Fe, Taos and Las Vegas, she had never seen. Britt did not approve of Holly riding in stage coaches.
